


Mr. and Mrs. SHIELD

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Dancing, Exhibitionism, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Grinding, M/M, Masturbation, SHIELD mission, Voyeurism, explicit anal sex, secret crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a thing for Phil.<br/>Phil has a thing for Clint.<br/>Neither of them know it. </p><p>What happens when they're told to pretend to be a married couple for a mission, and they have to "make it convincing?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is only in two pieces because it's 40 pages long and I thought that would be too long for one piece. Unbeta'd, so don't flip a table if you find a couple typos c:
> 
> Explicit for lots of masturbating and sex in the second half

Clint throws another shirt into his suitcase, adding to the growing mess that will never fit in the small bag. For what must be the eighth time he checks to make sure he packed sweatpants and a tee-shirt to sleep in. Because there's no way he'll be able to sleep nude like he's accustomed to if he has to share a bed with Phil. Not without giving himself away and ruining the whole op.  
  
With a sigh he falls back onto his bed, sweeping his arm out and knocking the suitcase onto the floor.  
  
"I can't do this." he groans aloud to the empty room. "Why does Fury do this to me?"  
  
Because he hates him. Clint is sure of that. He thought the director had it in for him a long time ago but this proves it. Why else would he give Clint an undercover op posing as Phil Coulson's husband of all things? The only explanation is that either Fury or some higher power found out about how he's lusted after Phil for years and has decided to use that information against him to ruin his life.  
  
"Fuck them all." he mutters sliding back off the bed to restart his packing.

 

“How’s it going?” Phil asks, suddenly in the doorway of Clint’s bunker, and causing him to jolt in surprise and hit his head on his bedpost he stands up so fast. Clint curses and clutches his skull and doubles over and Phil bites down a laugh with some difficulty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. We’re due to take off in 45 minutes, I just wanted to make sure everything’s going smoothly here. You didn’t forget to get your passport from Fury, right?”

 

"It's somewhere." Clint replies, waving a hand to his mess of a room. He hurries to pull his things back into his bag, disregarding a few pairs of pants and an old tee-shirt. "Should I bring a suit? Are we going to have to dress up at all or is just my usual shit fine?"

 

“You should bring a suit,” Phil nods, pocketing his sunglasses – he probably won’t need them for a while. “Oh, one other thing.”

 

He reaches inside his jacket and pulls a small drawstring bag out of an inside pocket. Untying the strings, he fingers it open and reaches inside, drawing out a gold band with a coupe diamonds inlaid in it. Striding up to Clint, he holds it out between two fingers.

 

“Your wedding ring,” he says, and Clint just stares at it, dumbfounded. “Go on, take it. It doesn’t bite.”

 

"I wouldn't be so sure." Clint mutters. But he takes the ring and slips it into his pocket. Phil is looking at him quizzically so he shrugs and adds, "I'll put it on later. Don't want it slipping off and getting lost."  
  
Weak excuse but he really doesn't want to have that weight on yet. Because that ring isn't just a piece of jewelry. It symbolizes a deep and loving relationship with the one man he wants that with more than anything. It's just pretend but it represents one of his best kept secrets and he's going to avoid it for as long as possible.  
  
He checks on his pajamas one last time before zipping up his suitcase. He finds his passport and fake id on his pillow and pulls his grey suit, Phil's favorite, out of his closet and adds it to the pile of luggage.  
  
"Alright, I'm ready."

 

“Let’s go over the info one more time,” Phil says as Clint slings his bag over his shoulder and a few other SHIELD agents slide past them to carry the other bags. “Your name is?”

 

“James D'anton,” Clint says, his other hand slipping into his pocket to finger the ring.

 

“And I am – ”

 

“My husband, Harry D'anton,” Clint swallows hard.

 

“And we’ve been married –”

 

“Four months. We met in Florida on the beach, and it was love at first sight.”

 

Phil smiled over at Clint. “Excellent. Now that we’ve got that squared we’ve got nothing else to do until the owners contact us about our rendezvous. This means you’re entitled to visit any of the resort amenities – the massage lounge, the gym, the pool, the beach. Don’t feel like you have to be all business just because I am.”

 

Because he knows that Clint hates that. He knows Clint better than anyone else. That’s why he insisted he be the one to work this op with him, where they have to pretend to be married at a newlywed retreat with a secret human trafficking ring right below the surface. They’re going to be the ones to tear it apart. And it doesn’t have _anything_ to do with the fact that he gets to pretend to be married to Clint for three wonderful days.

 

"You sure you don't want Tasha on this mission with you?" Clint asks nervously. They've had this discussion before and Phil's reasoning is sound but he can't help hoping Phil will change his mind. Because having to spend the next three days hanging off his arm, being openly affectionate and having Phil return those affections when it's all a lie is his idea of torture.

 

“Agent Romanoff and I work terribly together. Besides, I already filed the paperwork with the retreat, and they know I am arriving with my _husband_ James. I can’t suddenly arrive with a beautiful woman, now can I?” Phil shoots Clint a look and a chuckle. He hates how Clint keeps asking him that, because every time he does, it only reminds Phil a little bit more how obviously he doesn’t want to be doing this with Phil. And that hurts.

 

"Right." Clint sighs. So much for that. He still doesn't understand why Phil chose him, even if he didn't want to work with Natasha. He could have taken Hill or some other 'beautiful' woman to play his wife. Instead he chose to not only pretend to be married but pretend to be _gay_ which Clint can't wrap his mind around. Maybe it's easier for Phil to pretend to be married to someone he has no chance of growing attracted to or something like that. There's no point in arguing it now. Like Phil said, there's no changing it.  
  
So with a smirk he hefts his bag over his shoulder and heads to the door, smacking Phil on the ass as he passes him.  
  
"Let's go then honey."

 

Phil feels his throat tighten at the gesture and his stomach clench, but he manages to keep his face clear as he follows closely behind the younger agent. And he doesn’t need to know how closely he’s watching Clint’s ass in those jeans as he goes.

 

One jet ride later and they’re landing in a sunny airport in Saint Martin, greeted by a hundred people all welcoming the two travelers to their little island. Phil is glad he tucked his suit coat into his bag because it is _hot_ out. He puts his sunglasses back on and unbuttons the first two buttons on his shirt, taking a few moments to roll the sleeves up to his elbow, and he slips his fake wedding ring on the proper finger.

 

“Ready to grab a taxi?” Phil asks, turning to see Clint in his tight tank top and muscles already starting to gleam with sweat under the blistering sun. His mouth is a little dry now, but he manages.

 

Clint can't take his eyes off Phil. He's still in his button up and suit pants but he's lost the tie and jacket and he looks so relaxed. Clint's never seen this side of him. Phil's all business, all the time, never letting anything take away from his perfectly stoic, put together attitude. Even the few times Clint managed to coax him out of the office for drinks he's never done more than take his jacket off.  
  
But now his collar is open, revealing his neck and a peak at his collar bone, more than Clint has ever seen before. And those rolled up sleeves, showing off his forearms. Damn. Is it possible to be attracted to forearms because if it is Clint definitely has a thing for Phil's. Who knew that under those starched shirts he had arms like that, muscular with just a touch of light brown hair. They're perfect.  
  
Phil is looking at him questioningly and Clint jerks back to attention, face growing red. "Oh, yeah sorry. Heat must be getting to me."

 

“Yeah, let’s get to the resort,” Phil laughs, waving his hand to hail a taxi. They’re tossing their luggage into the trunk of one before long, and with the directions given to the driver, Phil leans casually back against the taxi seat, one arm thrown across the back of it, and nearly circling Clint’s shoulders.

 

The resort is massive, built over the edge of a small cliff leading to a beach and starlight white against all the brown and green rock. It seems to be nearly 80% glass, however, and Phil looks a little nervous as they check in.

 

Their room is quite the suite. One large bed with red covers and a crystal chandelier, and a bathroom with white marble floors and a tub that’s _definitely_ big enough for two, complete with gold faucets and jets.

 

There’s also a red and gold loveseat that looks rather plush, a TV hooked up to the wall and a camera up in the corner of the room, pointing directly at the bed. Phil frowns up at it, eyes squinting.

 

“There was nothing about video surveillance in the brochure,” he mutters quietly to Clint, pointing up at it. “That’s not good. That’s really not good.”

 

"It's only pointed at the bed. Just set your computer up away from it." Clint says, feigning ignorance to what else that camera could mean. If they're being watched they're going to be expected to _act_ like a newlywed couple in a fancy hotel room. Which means one thing that he really doesn't want to even start to consider.

 

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Phil hisses, taking Clint by the shoulder and leaning in really close in case there are also audio bugs – he’ll have to check later. “We’re supposed to be newlyweds. We’re two young-ish men with healthy sexual appetites who just got married and now we’re being offered a giant bed in a retreat that we signed up for, specifically for people who just got married. At the very least, we’re going to have to share that bed – at the most… well, it will come across as strange if two people who just got married are sleeping as far apart from one another as possible in the bed.”

 

Clint shrugs and throws his suitcase on the bed. Leaning in close he whispers back "So we'll cuddle. It'll be like that time we were trapped in that blizzard in Norway, remember? It's nothing we haven't done before."  
  
He's lying to himself as much as to Phil to try to keep the situation under control. It's nothing like that time in Norway when they had had to hold onto each other after the heat in their cabin went out. That was survival. There had been nothing intimate about it. He certainly hadn't had to worry about Phil noticing his morning wood.

 

Phil runs his hands down over his face and starts to scan the room, trying to look casual about it, until he was absolutely certain there weren’t any audio bugs.

 

“Alright, but this brings up another problem,” Phil points out, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing his face with the heels of his hands. “When our _employee_ gets here, we can’t ask him any questions about the trafficking like we planned. We can’t just sit here chatting if we’re going to be monitored.”

 

"We'll make it work." Clint replies, going over to Phil and rubbing his shoulders like any good man would when his husband is stressed. "We always find a way to make it work, don't we? We've just got to think about it a little. You can't get stressed over this. We're supposed to be a happy couple on our honeymoon."

 

“We could ask the employee questions while performing sexual acts, but, ahh,” Phil clears his throat. “There are no audio bugs, only visual, so they won’t know we’re asking questions about the trafficking. However, I really don’t enjoy sex with strangers.”

 

"You could sit off camera while I work with the employee." Clint offers. "Like you like to watch. Some guys are into that. And it won't be the first time I had sex with someone for a case."

 

Phil sighs again and nods. “That’s good, that will work,” he says, although the idea of sitting by and watching Clint have sex with someone else is not one that fills him with joy. “Yes, alright. Now, the big question is – what are we going to do until our appointment comes due?” he looks up at Clint with a small smile.

 

"I'd like a shower." Clint says with a seductive smile for the camera. "Why don't you come sit with me so we'll seem like two newlyweds enjoying ourselves?"

 

It takes Phil a moment there to recover from the miniature heart attack he experienced. Clint giving him bedroom eyes and saying he’d like a shower nearly gave Phil a hernia before he realized the expression was to be believable for the footage, and he was offering Phil a place to sit in the bathroom. Maybe they would talk about mission details.

 

He sits on the plush toilet seat cover with his legs folded, staring hard down at his phone. He expects Clint to climb into the shower and then take his clothes off before starting the water.

 

Phil is not that lucky.

 

It must be from all those years in the circus, Clint has _no_ shame in stripping down to his bare ass skin in front of Phil. Granted, Phil’s eyes are _supposed_ to be glued to his phone screen, but those pale blue irises can’t help but flick up to watch Clint peel off his too-tight tank top and jeans.

 

He looks down again as Clint begins to work his boxer-briefs down over the swell of his ass. There’s no was Phil would recover from seeing that. He clears his throat as Clint draws the circular shower curtain around the bath tub in a semi-circle across the railing.

 

“It occurs to me,” Phil sighs. “Seeing as this retreat is for newlyweds, you can’t be seen going off on your own all the time. We have to do… _couple stuff_. The only thing that’s mandatory is a night’s dinner at the on-resort restaurant, we pick the night. So I’m going to book us for tomorrow night – which is also the same night of our appointment. But this also means that I can’t go snooping. Unless you’ll give me a few hours and… I don’t know, work out in the gym or something.”

"We should probably spend today together." Clint replies, as much as it pains him. He's a little hurt that Phil didn't pay him the slightest attention while he was undressing but that only goes to assure him more that Phil will never be interested in him like that.

"After my shower we should go check out the rest of the resort, take a walk in the gardens, maybe head down to the beach, things like that." He continues. "Tomorrow I'll spend a few hours in the gym so you can snoop and then we'll meet up at the spa for a couples’ massage and some hot tub time before dinner."

“That sounds good,” Phil agrees and begins to punch it into his phone’s schedule. “That should give us plenty of time to discuss what we’re going to say to the employee who visits us during our appointment.”

 

He looks up on reflex, and what he sees makes his whole body heat up. There must be a light source from the other side of the curtain, because he can see the silhouette of Clint’s body in its entirety. He knows he should probably look away, but Clint can’t tell he’s looking through the opaque curtain, so he doesn’t. His mouth is dry as he maps the naked curve of Clint’s muscles, and then he turns _just so_ and Phil can see the outline of his penis, and he thinks he must have set on fire in that moment. The words on his phone are all jumbling together as he looks down at the screen, and darn it he should be able to deal with lust, he’s a damn SHIELD agent not some blushing teenager.

 

Clint leans forward under the water and takes himself in hand, thankful it's a curtain rather than a glass door between them, allowing him this privacy. Coulson is in the bathroom with him and as his voice floats through the sound of water he can't help but imagine a completely different situation bringing them together in this same place. Despite its impossibility the thought takes root in his mind and he can feel a stirring in his groin that he needs to take control of.

 

"Hey Phil? Would you mind giving me a few minutes alone?" He asks.

 

“Sure, of course,” Phil says, surprised that he can keep his voice so steady despite the fact that he just watched the silhouette of Clint grab his cock. He stands up and paces to the doorway, and despite himself, he stops at the doorway just peeking around the corner so he can continue to watch as Clint’s shadow starts to stroke itself.

 

Clint tips his head back and moans low in his throat. He can't be too loud because Phil is right outside the door but he can't hold back completely. He imagines Phil coming back into the room, pulling open the curtain and watching him as he pleasures himself. He can practically feel Phil's eyes on him as his length grows and hardens in his hand and it’s oh so perfect.

 

Phil’s mouth is definitely dry, and his own cock is starting to demand attention in his trousers. He plucks open the button of his slacks and slips his girth out to lay across his palm, and he starts to stroke himself slowly and purposefully as he watches Clint pleasure himself.

 

He can hardly believe he’s doing this. Peeping like a pervert. He’s supposed to have so much more self-control than this, but he can’t stop his hand from moving over his cock as he watches Clint thrust into his hand. He’s able to stay completely silent by sucking his lips into his mouth and biting down hard.

 

"Fuck," Clint moans, starting to pant. He imagines Phil studying him, ordering him to touch himself this way and that and he does, following the orders in his mind to the letter. He can't drag this out too long because Phil really is waiting for him. So he speeds up his movement, jerking himself more harshly to speed things along.

 

Phil is startled how close he is to climax already, just from watching Clint masturbate. He clutches the door jamb with one hand to keep upright as his hand speeds up to match Clint’s. His eyes are watering from lack of blinking, but he can’t bear to look away from this gorgeous image for even one second.

 

He wishes he could see Clint without the curtain in the way. Wishes he could see the water running down those cut muscles, wishes he could watch Clint’s hand move over his rosy, dripping cock –

 

That imagery sends a powerful pulse through Phil’s groin, and he comes so close to groaning out loud.

 

Clint is panting loudly now. His hips snap and jerk as he fucks the hole made by his fingers. He's close. So close. In his mind Phil is whispering to him, telling him to go faster and harder and finally, finally, to come.

 

And he does, bringing his hand up to cover mouth to muffle the cry of "Phil!" That he just can't hold back.

 

Watching Clint come is Phil’s undoing. He can’t stop a soft gasp from escaping him as he catches his release in his palm to keep it from splattering against the wall. He presses his forehead to the cool wood, trying to remember how to breathe and committing every second of that to memory.

 

Wiping his hand with a tissue and tossing it in a waste basket by the door, he goes to sit at the desk on the other side of the room, zipping his spent cock back into his trousers as he goes, and sitting with his laptop open.

 

Clint comes out of the bathroom a little while later, a towel tied low around his hips and his hair still dripping a little.

 

"Hey sweetie." He teases as he approaches the desk, his mask carefully in place. As if he hadn't been jerking off thinking about this very man just a few minutes earlier. "Wanna head down to the beach?"

 

Phil looks up, and he’s really glad he just came or he’d be hard at the sight of Clint dripping wet, the towel so low down on his hips that Phil can see some of the dark brown hair that curls at the base of his cock.

 

“Sure,” he says, closing his laptop and standing up. “Just let me change. I don’t want to go down like this.”

 

He grabs a few things from his suitcase and slips into the bathroom, and he can’t stop himself from peeking in the shower to see if any trace of Clint’s come remains. There is none.

 

Slipping into knee-length khaki shorts and a loose-fitting pale orange short sleeve button down, Phil settles his sunglasses on his forehead and knocks on the door to alert Clint he’s coming back out.

 

He feels more naked than he would if he were completely naked, to be honest. He must look absolutely ridiculous with his arms bare and his calves showing.

 

Clint has his swim trunks and a tight wife beater on when Phil comes out. He turns and smiles at the older man, eyes raking over him and taking in his laid back attire. He likes this side of Phil and he's going to commit as much of this weekend to memory as he can so he can look back on it. Because chances are he'll never get to see this side of his handler again. Or have an opportunity to be so openly affectionate.  
  
"You should wear short sleeves more often. You've got great arms." he says, keeping his tone casual, easily mistaken for friendly admiration.

 

“I’ve got hairy arms,” Phil corrects, always comparing himself to Clint – in this case Clint’s smooth, hairless arms. He unzips his bag and pulls out a brand new pair of flip flops, still bound together with the price tag on, and he pulls off the plastic tying the thongs together. Dropping them to the floor, he wiggles his toes into them, frowning at how different they feel from nice, crisp dress shoes.

 

"I like hairy arms." Clint admits, turning away to grab his own sandals and slipping them on. He always feels weird in the locker room next to the other men who all have hair on their arms or chests while he's only got some light blond hair on his legs.

 

Phil stares curiously at Clint as he walked out of the room, wondering what that statement could imply, before deciding he’s reading too deep into it and follows him out.

 

They pass a few other couples in the hall, so Phil reaches over to take Clint’s hand, twining their fingers together. He can’t think of a time that holding someone’s hand felt so nice.

 

Clint blushes and grins like a happy newlywed without needing to force it at all. His and Phil's hands fit together perfectly. Almost like they were made for each other which is odd for two men's hands. But maybe it only feels perfect because he wants it to be perfect. Phil probably thinks his hands are too big and too strong, preferring the small softness of a woman like Pepper or Hill's hand. But if he's uncomfortable he covers it well and Clint doesn't say anything or try to pull away.

 

The weather is perfect for a walk on the beach. The sun is hot but it isn’t too humid, and the occasional spray from the bigger waves on shore is welcome. Other couples are all polite and grin at the passing men, and Clint always waves. Phil drug his shades down over his eyes a while ago to shield them from the sun on the white sand, and it really pulls his look of Caucasian tourist together. Clint can’t get over the feeling of his fingers between Phil’s.

 

They reach the pier at the end of the beach, and once they’re far enough away from other people Phil starts in on talk about where he’s going to snoop tomorrow and what questions they need to ask, and it reminds Clint that this is an op and that walk down the beach, no matter how perfect, was under cover and completely fake.

 

Standing at the very end of the pier, Phil looks out over the water with a sigh. “This place really is nice,” he mutters. “Sometimes I forget I have almost a month of vacation time saved up because I never use it, and I could come somewhere like this with it… but I wouldn’t want to come alone. How boring would that be?” he chuckles softly to himself, only half aware that he’s speaking out loud.

 

"I suspect you would need someone to come along to at least change your batteries every few days." Clint teases. One of the most popular rumors amongst the junior agents is that Phil is actually a robot commissioned by Fury to watch over the Avengers. Clint would believe it too if he hadn't seen the agent's more vulnerable side on a few occasions.

 

Phil makes a face at Clint. He says nothing, wrinkling his nose, but Clint just continues to grin. He seizes the younger man by the waist, and without hesitation, flings him off the end of the pier and into the water, taking a step back to avoid the splash.

 

Clint breaks the surface, gasping and sputtering but laughing too. He looks up and Phil is smiling down at him and it's brilliant. He doesn't even want to question how a man like Phil could not only lift but throw him off the pier. So he keeps laughing as he hauls himself back up onto the dock and closes in on Phil, only to shake like a dog trying to dry itself, splattering him with water.  
  
"Well done old man. Bet you can't do it again."

 

“Is that a challenge?” Phil raises an eyebrow over his shades, “Because I could throw your ass down so fast your head would spin. I’ve been trained to be a killer since the days you were still wearing tights in the circus.”

 

"I was training to be a killer then too. I just didn't know it." Clint shoots back. He loves that look Phil gives him. That look that tells him he's not going to take any shit from him and can give as good as he gets. Not many people can handle him but Phil manages to not only do it, but compress it all into a single look that gives the archer goosebumps. Even when he can’t see that look, hidden behind sunglasses.

 

“Do you want to give me a go?” Phil challenges, stepping just a little closer and tilting his jaw up just slightly, drawing his full height up over Clint. It may have been intimidating to most people, but Clint can see the smirk and the twinkle in his eyes, even through the shades. “Because I can tell you right now, it doesn’t matter how much muscle you’ve got packed on your body, I can still trap you in a headlock faster than you can even roll over.”

 

"You know just what to say to get a guy all hot under the collar, don't you sir?" Clint replies with a smirk. He could probably hold his own against the older man and if they were back on base sparring he would agree without a second thought. But right now his footing is compromised and they're out in public for all the world to see and getting into a wrestling match on the pier wouldn't be great for their cover.

 

Phil gives Clint a gentle smack to the side of the head and begins to walk back down the pier, hands stuffed down his pockets as Clint hobbles wetly behind him, trying to wring some of the water out of his ears with his pinkie finger.

 

Spotting a few scattered picnic tables and some vendors that served food free of charge (after all, the resort did cost about $4,000 to get into) Phil gestured towards them. “Why don’t you go pick us up a couple burgers, and I’ll grab us a table?” he suggests.

 

"Picnic on the beach, you're so romantic Harry." Clint says, slipping into their roles now that they were around people. He leans in and gives Phil a quick peck on the cheek before strutting over to one of the vendors. He's a little embarrassed by his own nerve but is proud of how well he's keeping it under control. This mission might be easier than he expected. At least until they have to share a bed.

 

Phil takes a little longer than he should watching the way Clint’s soaking wet swim trunks cling to his ass as he walks, with an appraising sort of smirk, before finally relocating himself to an empty table. He crosses his ankles in the sand, and looks around at all the happy couples with a sigh.

 

He looks to his left and sees a couple that appear to be in their seventies, and he can’t help but feel a little flutter of warmth, since the retreat is for couples who have been married for less than a year. He wonders if it will take that long for _him_ to find his true love, or if he’ll ever meet someone at all.

 

Clint joins him soon, bringing burgers, fries and sodas for the two of them. He chooses to sit beside Phil rather than across from him so they can enjoy the view of the beach together. He notices the older couple as well and feels his heart drop a little. They're so lucky. Even if it took them most of their lives they found someone they love to be with. He looks at Phil and he knows it's something he'll never have. The agent is the only person for him and they'll never be together like that. Not as themselves at least.

 

“Have you ever really thought about getting married?” Phil asks before he can even think to stop himself, picking up a couple of the salty fries and biting into them.

 

"Every girl dreams of her wedding, you should know that." Clint laughs, writing it off as a joke. Phil should know by now it's not something he could ever really hope for.

 

“I mean it,” Phil elbows Clint gently in the side. “Because lately… well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. This mission has made me think about it even more. It’s made me… think about who’s important to me. You know, who I could really see myself spending a life with, who I would be willing to be there for _in sickness and in health_ , and all that stuff.” He looks over at Clint, watching him lick a little bit of ketchup off his lower lip, his big hazel eyes gazing right back at him.

 

“Phil, I – ”

 

“Well now, lovebirds, do you mind if we sit here?” comes a woman’s voice, and Phil’s attention snaps away from Clint to see that every other table had suddenly filled except for the other half of theirs. A young couple is standing over them – two women. He grins. “Sure, you can sit here,” he says, immediately putting on his character with a wide sort of smile that Clint has never seen on his face.

 

"Please," Clint says, adding a grin of his own and gesturing to the open bench in invitation. "You'll be saving me, really. I love this man but I can only listen to his old surfing story so many times. And I still don't believe him."

 

Phil kicks Clint light heartedly under the table. Clint kicks him back.

 

“Well, what’s ya’lls names?” the first of the two women asked. She had a warm, freckled face and golden braided pigtails and a squeaky southern accent, wearing all white and a cowgirl hat, and she was holding hands with a curvy redhead who was holding a funnel cake in her other hand, clearly meant to be shared between the two women. Their wedding rings were braided white gold and matched perfectly, down to the pink crystals woven into the bands. “I’m Bridget an’ this is my wife Angela.”

 

"James. This is my husband Harry." Clint says, taking Phil's hand on top of the table and leaning against him a little. Phil gives his hand a little squeeze and Clint grins, knowing it's his way of silently praising him for sticking to their covers so well.

 

“And where do ya’ll come from?” Bridget asked as she sat down with Angela, and they both started to pick from the funnel cake.

 

“New York,” Phil answers before Clint has another chance to be a smartass.

 

“Well, you picked a helluva place to honeymoon!” Bridget grins. “You know, I thought me an’ Angie here were the only couple like us in the whole retreat, and you should _see_ some of the looks we got from a few of the other high-falootin’ couples that come runnin’ through here. Mostly the wives, they looked real acidy.”

 

“James and I are probably spared because his muscles are bigger than most of the straight guys’,” Phil chuckles. 

 

Clint smiles proudly, flexing his arm to show off. "All hard work. And not the kind you do in a gym either. This is hard earned, occupation built muscle."

 

“Oh wow, what do you do for a livin’?” Bridget grins, looking across at his arms curiously. “Do you lift bears or somethin’?”

 

"Construction. Been really busy for us lately too. I got a contract through Stark industries and they pay well so we thought we'd go all out on our honeymoon, right Harry?" Clint says, smiling lovingly at his fake husband.

 

“My bank job has something to do with it, though,” Phil chuckles, looking down at the table.

 

“He’s so modest. _Bank manager_ ,” Clint says, giving Phil a gentle shove with his shoulder.

 

They continue to chat for a while, learning that Bridget is a country singer and Angela’s a painter. They talk about how they met one another – Clint is very proud at how well he manages to relay their fake story. Bridget swoons when Clint looks directly at Phil as he talks about how it was irrefutably love at first sight.

 

“I never was one to believe in that sort of thing,” Phil says quietly, eyes downcast like he’s shy. “But my eyes met his and… I just knew in that moment if I let this man keep walking past me it’d be the biggest mistake I ever made.”

 

"Didn't stop him from putting off asking me to marry him though." Clint teases. "I was going nuts. I thought he wanted to ask but he never said anything and finally I got fed up. I went to his place after work stormed right in and asked ‘So are you going to propose or not?’ And you won't believe how red his face got."

 

Phil feels almost real embarrassment when Bridget and Angela coo, and he hopes that Clint will think its part of his cover that his ears are turning red.

 

The couples continue to talk for a while longer before finally their lunches are gone and they part ways, assuredly friends. Or at least, Bridget and Angela are friends with James and Harry. But that’s part of the job.

 

They walk down the beach again until Clint is completely dried off, and Phil talks endlessly about how foul the trafficking is in this resort, and how much good this place could be doing if it weren’t for the horrible ways it sells people for a night like they’re just a service at the resort.

 

“That’s not to say that every single couple that comes here has an appointment for a night with an employee,” Phil says, his hand still clasped in Clint’s. “In fact, it’s my bet that 80% of the people here don’t even know what the resort is doing.”

 

"But that 20% that do pay enough to keep the business going. It's fucked up." Clint agrees. He's glad Phil keeps talking about work because if he didn't Clint isn't sure he could still be pulling this off. Without that constant reminder that this is all pretend he would get lost in the feel of Phil's hand and the beauty of where they are and he might slip. And slipping up and revealing how much he wishes this wasn't just an op would be the end for the two of them as a professional team.

 

They must go over the necessary questions like a script a dozen more times before Clint manages to convince Phil to actually do something fun for the sake of doing something fun. “Something fun” for Clint and for Phil are very different, they find, so they elect to do something for the both of them – on the condition that Phil can pop-quiz Clint at any second he wants.

 

So they tandem bicycle. It’s absolutely ridiculous and they keep wobbling but Clint is all grins, and it’s not so bad once they get the hang of it because Phil gets to watch Clint’s ass on the seat in front of him and lord isn’t that lovely. They bicycle all across town, and Phil doesn’t even care if they look silly because this is actually sort of nice.

 

Then it’s Phil’s turn to do “something fun” so they go back to the room and get a little bit dressed up – jeans and dress shirts – and they go to a screening of an old movie. Clint has never seen Casablanca, but every other couple leans on one another as they watch it so he does too. The seats are fashioned for two. He pulls his feet up and sticks them under Phil’s calves as he leans against him and he really doesn’t cry.

 

When the movie is over it’s dark, and Clint insists it’s “his turn” again, and he wants to go dancing, but Phil says that he’s tired after the bike ride and that Clint should give an old man like him a break. “We’ll go dancing tomorrow,” he promises as they return to the room, and Clint is already stripping off his dress shirt. He hates the way they feel.

 

He unbuttons it but leaves it on for now, letting the air conditioning cool his body from the warmth outside. He’s facing the camera at the edge of the bed and he doesn’t move, because Phil starts to pull off his dress shirt just a few feet away. And he’s staring shamelessly.

 

He’s facing in the other direction, but Clint is perfectly content to look at his back. He’s not thick with muscle like Clint is, or even like Steve or Thor. He’s got a wiry build, but every part of him looks rock solid. There’s a scar on his back, and Clint knows there’s one to match on his chest from Loki’s scepter. His shoulder blades ripple as he slides the cloth down his back, and it’s nearly pornographic. The valley of his spine is deep and the ridges of his shoulders are wide, and there are little dips in the muscle that Clint doesn’t have because his is packed on much too tightly. Phil looks solid but soft, and Clint wants to run his hands down his back _so badly_.

 

And then oh lord, he turns around. He doesn’t seem to notice that Clint is watching, but he turns around and folds his shirt, and Clint can see every single groove of his body, covered in a thin layer of brown hair. He doesn’t exactly have a six pack, but his body is firm and rangy all the same.

 

Clint shakes himself out of it before Phil can notice how hungrily he's looking at him and wolf whistles to cover it up.  
  
"Wow boss. You should come down to the gym more often, you'd be pretty popular." he says trying to keep up the teasing. It's hard because damn Phil looks good and he doesn't even want to consider what could happen if any of the others saw him like this. If word gets out that Phi has this kind of body there'd be very few women who wouldn't be fighting for his attention. And Clint plans to keep as much of that for himself as he can.

 

Phil only chuckles as he zips his bag up again. He looks carefully over his shoulder at the camera, and then suddenly he walks right up to Clint and gives him a shove to the chest, throwing him down on the mattress. Clint opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but then Phil is climbing over him and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating.

 

“Camera,” Phil mutters as he settles himself between Clint’s legs. “Make it look convincing.” He probably doesn’t need to do this, but he really wants to. So he nudges his face down into Clint’s neck and props himself up on his elbows.

 

Clint closes his eyes and relaxes beneath Phil. It's all for the camera, he tells himself to keep his body under control. It's not real. It's pretend and nothing is going to happen. It's all for show.  
  
Still, he takes advantage of the situation to fulfill his previous desire to run his hands down Phil's back. His skin is warm and smooth except where Loki scarred him. He takes his time, stroking the blemish gently and enjoying the feel of Phil's muscles and bones shifting beneath his fingers when he moves. It feels so intimate and wonderful and Clint wants to cry because after this mission he'll never be able to touch Phil like this again.

 

Phil breathes in the scent of Clint, masculine and sharp and salty, and he wants to give him a kiss on the jugular so badly, but there’s no way he can pretend that’s for the camera because the camera can’t see his face. He shifts a little bit to try and get comfy, rocks his body against Clint’s and he’s proud of himself for keeping quiet. The feel of the younger man’s  hands raking down his back shoots shivers through him, and he has to tense all of his muscles up to keep from outright shuddering against the solid form of the man beneath him.

 

Clint has to listen to him, Clint is in his command, always has been. He’s never before taken advantage of that fact – not once.

 

But he will now.

 

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he says, keeping his voice as calm and authoritative as it always is, like he’s ordering Clint to take a shot or get away from the fight, just like any normal command.

 

"Yes sir." Clint replies a little breathlessly, trying to ignore the way his cock perks up in interest at the order. He brings his legs up and wraps them easily around Phil's trim waist but keeps his hips down to keep at least a little space between them. Otherwise Phil will certainly notice that he's already starting to get hard and he can't imagine that conversation going in his favor.

 

A jolt shoots through Phil and he closes his eyes as he nuzzles Clint’s neck, imagining what it would be like if they were naked, if this were really happening, if Clint’s legs were around his legs and he were about to make love to the man.

 

“Now use that _construction worker_ strength of yours to throw me over and sit on my waist. Then we’ll go to the bathroom and take turns showering.” He says, feeling only a little bit ashamed that he’s taking advantage of Clint with his orders.

 

Clint nods because he doesn't trust his voice. He gives it another second before he uses his weight to roll them over so he's straddling Phil's waist. He's almost fully hard now and aching to grind against Phil but he doesn't. Phil can hardly miss how his body is reacting but he doesn't have to make it anymore obvious just how badly he wants him.  
  
"Shower now?" he asks breathlessly.

 

“Shower now,” Phil agrees, seizing Clint around the waist and rolling them both so they can stand at the edge of the bed. He did it to be sure – and he’s sure. He definitely felt Clint’s cock throb against his stomach as he pressed them together. There’s no way he imagined that. He ushers the younger man quickly into the bathroom and closes the door behind them. “You got to go first last time, my turn,” he says, because he definitely needs to get under some cold water before he completely loses it.

 

He can tell that Clint is trying to cover his lap as he sits on the toilet, and Phil climbs into the shower still half-dressed, drawing the curtain. He can see now that the light he saw Clint’s silhouette by is from a few fake candles on the edge of the tub, which are still glowing. He decides to leave them on as he shucks his shoes and trousers and tosses them out from the edge of the curtain. He wonders if Clint is watching him like he was watching Clint before, and he’s glad that he’s an older man and even with an erection his cock doesn’t sit straight up like it used to.

 

Clint's heart is pounding hard in his chest and it seems to speed up with each article of clothing Phil tosses out. He can see a shadow of Phil through the curtain and he thinks his heart might stop altogether. If he hadn't asked him to leave earlier Phil would have been able to see exactly what he was doing, just like in his fantasy. The thought both excites and terrifies him and his cock throbs again in renewed interest.

 

Phil is honestly surprised with himself. He’s not a very young man and already he’s needing to masturbate twice in one day. But he can’t, not with Clint right there, not when Clint can see everything through the curtain. And Clint can’t leave the bathroom yet, the camera outside needs to believe that a pair of lovers just slipped into the shower to make love. The thought makes his groin throb again.

 

There’s no discreet way to jerk off in the shower. He curses himself, wonders if Clint is watching his hand move to his cock and give it an experimental squeeze.

 

Clint bites his lip to keep from moaning when Phil touches himself. He can't believe Phil would do something so bold but maybe he doesn't know Clint can see him. Maybe he'd been so busy ignoring Clint earlier that he hadn't even realized a shadow can be seen through the curtain or maybe he just doesn't care. Either way his hand is around his cock and Clint can't tear his eyes away.

 

Phil wishes he could see through the curtain to assess Clint’s expression, or if he’s even watching or not. But he can’t even peek around the curtain lest he give away he wants Clint to be watching him.

 

He thinks about how he felt Clint’s cock against his stomach before, and it sets him to wondering. He is well aware of Clint’s bisexuality – he’s accidentally caught him in the act with both Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark – but it’s never crossed his mind that Clint could be attracted to _him_ because he’s so entirely unattractive. Balding and hairy and old, and so not what anyone should be interested in. He’s kept fit, but that’s for his job, and he’s nothing like Tony or Thor or any of those guys he’s seen Clint’s gaze lingering on.

 

So maybe Clint was just reacting to the idea of a man being over him, his legs wrapped around Phil’s waist. But maybe – _maybe_ – he actually was interested in Phil. The idea was preposterous… but it required some careful test studies.

 

So he wraps his hand around his cock and lifts and gives it one good, firm pump, full in view of Clint, should he look up. If he immediately asks Phil to stop masturbating, they’re sharing the room for chrissakes, then that’s all the study he’ll need and he’ll know for good and all that he should dash all of his hopes for being with Clint. But if there’s even a chance that Clint is silently watching, he’ll keep going, right to climax. 

 

This is torture. Pure and simple, just like Clint thought this weekend was going to be. He never expected having to sit in a room watching Phil masturbate though. That possibility never even crossed his mind. But here they are and he's watching, eyes shamelessly glued to the movements of Phil's hand and hips and the arch of his back as he pleasures himself.

 

His cock is so hard it hurts but there's nothing he can do about it now. He can't start touching himself because he won't be able to keep quiet, unlike Phil who seems to have mastered the art of silently jerking off.

 

So he sits, shifting every now and then to get a little friction against his cock because that's the closest to pleasure he's going to get. He starts to wonder who Phil is thinking about while he touches himself. He's probably conjured up the image of some beautiful woman and without even knowing who she is Clint starts to hate her.

 

It’s impossible to tell if Clint is watching or simply not paying attention, so Phil angles himself just so, so that the movement of his hand is completely evident. The thought that Clint could be watching him through the shower curtain makes him so hard it hurts, and as much as he wants to moan aloud, he’s not quite ready to go that far in his tests yet.

 

He moves his other hand to cup and massage his balls, still strategically angling himself so nothing is lost on the shadow on the curtain, so that – if Clint is watching – Clint will see every shift of his fingers.

 

A little groan escapes Clint before he can stop it. But what can he do when faced with a display like that? It's almost like Phil is trying to drive him crazy. As if he knows Clint is watching and growing harder with any second until he's sure he's going to explode if he doesn't touch himself soon.

 

That groan doesn’t escape Phil. His confidence soars and he shifts both of his hands so that they’re fisting his length, and instead of moving his hands he starts to thrust his hips. He’s thankful for the cool temperature of the water or he would have caught on fire by now, with the heat that’s rolling through him. He’s still not 100% sure that Clint is paying attention, maybe he’s just groaning bored and facing the other direction. He can’t do anything rash until he’s sure, his training makes him sure of that much. He always tells Clint, don’t take the shot until the going is absolutely clear, without a single doubt.

 

"Fuck." Clint mutters. Phil is thrusting into his hands now and Clint is impressed with the control and precision he has, imaging that same controlled strength thrusting deep into him. He has this sense that Phil would know just how to handle him, how fast and how hard to pound into his willing body or how tightly to hold his hair while he fucked his throat.  
  
His cock is practically pulsing now and he presses his hand to the bulge to appease it. If this continues for much longer he isn't going to be able to hold back anymore and he's going to do something very stupid.

 

Phil’s pleasure is mounting now, and oh yes he heard Clint curse under his breath. He wants to be sure now, wants to invite Clint into the shower, but he can’t muster up the courage, _just in case_ he’s wrong. He’s pretty sure he can’t handle that rejection. Besides, he’s already incredibly close. He throws his head back, swallows down a powerful moan, and he wonders if Clint can see the jets of his come as they shoot out of him and are washed down the drain.

 

Clint watches Phil shudder through his climax and feels a little cheated that he couldn't watch his face. But part of him is thankful for it at the same time because if he had he probably would have come too. He continues rubbing himself through his jeans until Phil reaches to turn the water off. As soon as it stops he pulls his hand away and turns his back on the shower, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself and hide any sign that he had just been watching Phil like a common pervert.

 

“Your turn,” Phil says as he wraps a towel around his waist, trying to read Clint’s body language, but he’s facing in the other direction. Has he been facing the other way the whole time? He passes Clint without looking at him and steps up to the mirror, carefully watching him in the reflective surface. He stands, and there it is, perfectly evident – Clint has an erection. A smirk spreads smugly across Phil’s face as he takes a smaller towel and rubs it over his short hair. Now he just has to determine whether that erection is for him specifically, or simply residual arousal that floated through the bathroom as Phil got off.

 

“I’m going to go out to get dressed,” Phil tells Clint, because he knows Clint is going to want to jerk off too, and Phil’s pretty sure if he comes three times in one day he’ll just pass out from exertion.

 

As soon as the door closes Clint practically rips his clothes off and jumps into the shower. He wastes no time in wrapping his hands around his cock. He imagines Phil standing here just moments ago, driving himself to his orgasm with his own hands, water running down his surprisingly toned body. In almost no time at all he's coming too, moaning Phil's name to the empty bathroom.  
  
He stays in the shower until he has control over himself again. Then he turns off the water and wraps a towel around himself to rejoin Phil in the bedroom.

 

Phil is wearing a loose tee and plain black sweat pants, lying under the covers in the bed with them pulled down to his waist, and he’s reading by lamplight. “We have to be up fairly early tomorrow,” he looks up at Clint, trying to assess his body language, but he just seems overall tired. “So dry your hair off and let’s get some sleep.”

 

When Clint finally rolls into bed, Phil turns off the lamp and situates himself right behind Clint like they said that morning, settling one arm under his head, and the other around his waist. The feeling of Clint against him is wonderful, and he breathes in the scent of his freshly washed body, the shampoo in his hair and the soap on his skin. He curls his knees up under Clint’s legs and he’s surprised to find he’s _just_ the right size to conform to every curve of the younger mans’ body. He’s pretty sure the cameras don’t have night vision, but he doesn’t need to tell Clint that.

 

Clint closes his eyes and relaxes against Phil, the man a comfortable warmth against his back. He's fallen asleep like this before but never on this side and it feels nice. And just like their hands they seem to fit perfectly together. As he drifts off he wonders if he'll ever be able to fall asleep without someone holding him like this ever again.  
  
In the morning he wakes slowly to a gentle hand rubbing his arm. He turns onto his back and stretches before he opens his eyes to find Phil looking down on him. He grins up at him, thinking he still must be dreaming because why else would Phil be in his bed?  
  
Then the mission comes back to him and his smile becomes tighter and more forced.  
  
"Morning." he mutters, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

 

“Good morning sweetheart,” Phil teases, “I’ve let you sleep in as long as I can, but I really need to get into the offices of the higher-ups here and do a little investigating. You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed and get out the door to the gym.”

 

He’s wearing a plain white button up, unbuttoned to his collarbone and rolled up to his elbows and tucked into a pair of high-waisted black jeans that were probably tailored directly by the gods and handed down to him, because they fit him so perfectly. He’s holding a plain black bag that looks like any tourist’s bag, but Clint knows he’s probably got all the materials he needs in there.

 

Clint rolls out of bed and pulls off his pajamas. tossing them haphazardly onto the bed as he searches through his suitcase for some gym clothes. He finds a pair of basketball shorts and a tight white tee-shirt that he throws on, not bothering with boxers. Stuffing his iPod into his pocket he turns back to Phil.  
  
"Good to go."

 

“Alright, get going,” Phil says, gesturing towards the door. He’s all business this morning, just like Clint is used to. “I’ve got a few things to gather here and I’ll be off as well.”

 

He heads off to the places he needs to go, cool and casual as ever. Clint maybe watches him walk away a little longer than he needs to.

 

It’s been a really long time since he’s worked out in a gym with normal people. It’s a weird feeling, lying on a bench and lifting weights with men and women all around him that have normal jobs. Mailpeople and delivery truck drivers and waiters and _normal_ people. He feels vulnerable, as if anyone will be able to look over and see that he has a freak job. But they don’t.

 

It feels like five hours must have passed as Clint moves from weights to an elliptical, focusing on his music instead of the tense feeling in the air. Then the door opens and Phil walks in and meets his eyes, and suddenly all of that tension disappears.

 

“Rinse off in the showers,” Phil gestures behind him towards the locker room. “I’ll be in the hall.”

 

It’s only been about two and a half hours, and Clint notices that he’s not holding his bag anymore, but he doesn’t say anything – there are too many people around.

 

Clint showers off, nodding to some of the men he passes in the locker room and joins Phil out in the hall. Together they get lunch then go down to the spa for a couples massage. Clint is unrestrained with his appreciative groans working out the tension in his muscles while Phil is beside him, as silent as always. From there they go to the hot tub and Clint teases Phil about going and getting facials. He does leave Phil for a bit to get a manicure because as much as the guys back home would tease him for it, he works with his hands constantly and he likes to treat them well. Besides, the massage he gets while she works in the lotion is to die for.  
  
Finally they leave again to go back up to their rooms to get ready for dinner. Clint doesn't even complain about the suit because today has been so perfect it doesn't really matter.

 

“You look… you look good, agent,” Phil says as he scans over the man. He can’t help but wonder if he brought the light grey suit on purpose, because Phil has expressed in the past that he thinks Clint looks really good in it. The way the light suit compliments his lightly tanned skin, golden eyes and blonde hair is amazing, and Phil doesn’t hesitate to take hold of Clint and pull him into a tight hug. If that small chance Phil is wrong about Clint’s attraction to him, then he can pass it off as a show for the camera still blinking away in the upper corner of the room.

 

Clint hugs Phil back without hesitation. He holds him close and breathes in the scent of his cologne. It's something simple, warm and earthy and Clint loves it. He could smell that for the rest of his life. So he holds Phil even tighter, hoping some of the scent will linger on his jacket for him to enjoy later.

 

“We can’t be late for dinner now, James,” Phil grins against Clint’s ear, and he thinks he feels a shiver run through the shorter man’s body. He pulls away and takes Clint by the hand and they walk to the restaurant together.

 

It’s absolutely decadent, draped in gold and red velvet, satin table cloths and plush dining chairs. The tables are small and round with a bunch of real roses crowning around a small glass bowl full of water with a tealight floating in it at the center of every table. There must be a hundred tables at least, and at the front of the room is a stage with an actual play being performed. They can’t tell what it is just yet, but it looks like it just started as they’re seated and handed menus – and of course, everything is free of charge.

 

“This place would be so amazing,” Phil sighs as he watches the actors on stage sweep about dramatically. “It’s a shame it’ll probably be shut down as soon as we bring the information back to Fury.”

 

"Maybe. Maybe someone else will take over and keep this place open but without the secondary business. Plenty of money to be made like you said." Clint shrugs. What happens after a mission isn't any of his business and he prefers not to think about it too much. And right now he's too busy trying to look like he belongs in a fancy restaurant to care about what's going to happen to it when the owners are tossed in jail.

 

Phil looks over the menu with a skeptical expression. “Oh, I think this is one of those fancy places that serves like, thirteen mouse-sized courses.”

 

"As long as they serve dessert I don't care." Clint replies, looking at his own menu. "Half of this is in Italian. Mind translating sweetie?"

 

They finally settle on a few dishes, some to share, and relay their order to the waiter, who looks a little bit disdainful as he looks down on what he believes to be a couple of husbands.

 

“Don’t fill up too much though, we’re going to a campfire after this, and there will be s’mores and hot dogs and stuff like that,” Phil smiles, and he’s ready to put his plan into action. He’s been formulating all day just how he’ll determine whether Clint has the hots for him. It’s a preposterous thing for him to think about, he’s pretty sure he’s got the least sex appeal of any of the men Clint works with, but if he’s what turns Clint’s crank then he isn’t going to complain. He reaches his foot forward and makes a point to nudge Clint’s pant leg up his ankle while he smirks at him. “There will be a lot of other couples there, so keep your character on good and tight.”

 

"I know how to be someone else Phil, don't worry." Clint assures him. He's a little surprised at the way Phil's foot is touching him. It's almost flirty and he can't understand it. No one is looking at their feet. But maybe this is what Phil means about keeping in character. It means acting like them whether people are looking or not.

 

When their food comes they laugh over the small portions and cut everything in half to share. Phil takes Clint’s hand at every chance he can get, and even manages to snake a finger around to feel for the pulsepoint on his wrist as he slides his foot up his calf again. He feels his heartbeat flutter, and if the flush covering his nose is any indication, the rise in his pulse isn’t from disgust or fear. It’s definitely arousal.

 

They feed one another from forks and Phil maybe licks his lips one too many times, just to watch Clint’s eyes focus on his mouth. He feels a hundred different kinds of hot, and he wonders if he’ll ever really feel like he has all the evidence he needs to support Clint’s attraction to him, or if he’ll keep feeling like he needs just a little bit more.

 

It’s surreal, the fact that he’s doing this. Rubbing at Clint’s knuckles (he knows that Clint’s hands are an erogenous zone for him, having to do with the psychology wrapped around how much he uses his hands) and smirking at him with his eyes low and rubbing against his calf. He feels like he should be waking up from a dream any moment now, and find himself back in the world where Clint couldn’t possibly feel anything for him.

 

Every touch is another crack in Clint's walls. Every time Phil's hand brushes his he can feel his heart speed up and his face flush and his entire body heats up when Phil's thumb rubs the back of his hand. It's worse when Phil's foot rubs his ankle because he still doesn't understand it. If he didn't know better, and he does know better, he'd think Phil was really flirting with him. But Phil is straight. He's just being a good agent, sticking to his cover. He probably doesn't even notice the effect he's having on the archer.  
  
They finish dinner and leave the restaurant. The cool night air and the breeze coming off the sea are more than welcome as they clear Clint's thoughts and the momentary break from character gives him a minute to rebuild his defenses.  
  
"Alright, so you said something about a party on the beach?" he asks, turning back to Phil.

 

They clasp hands again and Phil smiles at him, they walk together to the beach. Suit jackets came off, as well as shoes, thrown over their shoulders with the laces tied together.

 

Blankets have been laid out across the beach, almost every one occupied by a snuggling couple. Phil leads  the two of them to an empty blanket very near to a large campfire, and there are buckets of s’more ingredients and long metal sticks with plastic handles.

 

“Maybe this will make up for the two-bite chocolate cake the restaurant gave you,” Phil chuckles as he pulls out a graham cracker to nibble on.

 

He’s been noticing Clint’s reactions. And he’s sure now. If Clint isn’t attracted to _him_ , he’s definitely attracted to the idea of being flirted with. And if Clint won’t want him after the first time they sleep together, well… at least Phil will die happy.

 

Clint goes right for the marshmallows and starts roasting them over the fire. Each one he manages to set on fire but he doesn't mind. He eats them plain or makes s'mores out of them. He laughs around the gooey mess sticking to his fingers and lips and cheeks and tries to convince Phil to try just one. It's almost like a real date and it's Phil, so the fact that they're technically working doesn't bother him.

 

“Hey strangers!” a familiar voice calls, and they look up to see Bridget and Angela come walking up holding hands. They sit on a blanket beside them with wide grins. “Did ya’ll just come from that fancy restaurant?”

 

“We did,” Phil says with a chuckle, and then watches as Clint sucks another marshmallow off his fingers. “Alright, James, you can roast me one. But please don’t char it like yours,” he laughs.

 

"Wimp." Clint teases but happily puts another marshmallow on the sitck and carefully holds it above the flames, turning it every now so it's evenly toasted.

 

They giggle and chat with the women until Clint pulls a very nicely toasted, golden brown marshmallow from the fire.

 

“Feed it to me,” Phil teases, knowing well what he’s doing. He is an agent after all, he always has a plan. Clint rolls his eyes and holds out the poker, “Not from the stick, I’ll burn my mouth,” he says.

 

Clint takes the sticky treat from the end of the stick and it runs down his fingers. Exactly as planned, Phil smirks. He takes Clint by the wrist and begins to nibble and suck the runny sugar from his digits, knowing completely well what he’s doing to the man and his hyper-sensitive digits.

 

Clint groans and shivers, not needing to regulate his responses now. Not only are they supposed to be maintaining their cover but Phil _knows_ about his hands. He knows exactly the effect he and his tongue are having on Clint right now and Clint loves and hates him for it.

 

Phil looks up into Clint’s eyes, his blue hues sweltering as he sucks sugar off his fingertip. He can see the flush is back, and he can feel those shivers and oh, he wants to just take him right now on this beach in front of everyone.

 

A few other couples gather around though, so he figures he better back off. For now, at least. It’s only seven, after all, the night is young. Their appointment isn’t until midnight.

 

They chat with the other couples, who bring their blankets closer around the fire. They share stories about how they met, how they proposed, how many children they want to have, and other such couple nonsense. Phil will always squeeze Clint’s wrist or rub his arm when he does a good job of staying in-character.

 

And then a couple a few blankets over rolls over on top of each other and begins to kiss like they’re about to devour each other alive. A few people wolf-whistle and catcall, and a few people make exaggerated gagging noises. “Get a room!” someone shouts.

 

They break apart and Phil looks a little bit nervous, and the husband of the couple definitely notices.

“Do you have a problem with public affection?” he grins over at Phil, who just chuckles and looks down at his blanket.

 

"Harry's a bit conservative." Clint replies, taking Phil's hand. "At least in public," he adds flirtatiously.

 

“Oh, come on man!” the husband of the couple laughs. “You know what they say, if you can’t kiss your lover in public, then you’re holding something back, and you can never love them completely.”

 

“Aw, who says that?” Bridget defends. “Just cause someone’s shy don’t mean they don’t love their companion,” she squeezes her wife’s hand, who has yet to say a word.

 

“I’m not _shy_ ,” Phil is adamant.

 

"Don't let it get to you baby," Clint replies, scowling at the other husband. He gives Phil's hand a squeeze, trying to remind him to keep calm and in character. "I know you love me."

 

And then suddenly Phil is upon him, and their lips meet, and fireworks explode. At first Clint thinks that’s just the contact of their mouths, but no, there are actually fireworks exploding over the ocean now. Everyone’s attention is grabbed by the bright lights, and nobody notices Phil go down on his pretend husband.

 

His hands cup Clint’s jaw and he imposes himself over the younger man’s muscular form, thigh between Clint’s legs and he’s kissing him fiercely. He probably shouldn’t be so rash, but he can’t possibly stop himself now that his tongue is tracing Clint’s lips.

 

Clint grabs onto Phil, holding him close as he kisses back hungrily. He opens his mouth to the kiss and tastes Phil's tongue. He groans low in his throat, half hoping the fireworks will drown out the noise and half just not caring anymore. Because he's kissing Phil and that's enough to keep him content for the rest of his life.

 

Everything else is drowned out as their tongues make love, and if there was any doubt in Phil’s mind before, it’s gone now. Because these are not the lips and tongue of a man who is doing this for a mission. These are not the sounds of a man who is forcing a kiss because of a character, and these are not the rolling hips of a pretend lover. He presses his mouth messily into Clint’s, and he’s trying to keep his moans in check but he’s not succeeding, not really. The fireworks are so loud nobody can hear him, but he knows Clint can feel the vibrations on his tongue.

 

Phil almost seems to be enjoying himself. In fact if it were anyone else Clint would be sure of it. But Phil is straight. Everyone knows that. He likes women, not brawny male archers with attitude problems.

 

But Phil's tongue is moving against his and Clint lets himself drown in the feeling. Phil has to know how he feels now but he's not stopping. So Clint lets go of reality and the impossibility of the situation in favor of capturing every precious moment of his first and probably last kiss with Phil.

 

The kiss finally breaks and Phil pants against Clint’s throat, mustering up every iota of his self control to keep from fucking Clint right into the blanket beneath them. Clint’s hands are at his shoulders and his are tangled in the younger man’s short hair, and neither of them are willing to look at each other just yet.

 

“If you two are done eatin’ each other’s faces, you’re missin’ the fireworks!” Bridget laughs, and Phil reluctantly rolls over – but not before slipping his arm beneath Clint’s head.

  
Leaning in close, he whispers in the younger man’s ear, “ _We still have to go dancing tonight. I promised._ ”

 

Clint just nods, too shocked to form words yet. It was undoubtedly the best kiss of his life. He would be happy to end the night like this, with that perfect kiss and the fireworks overhead. Hell, he'd be happy to die like this. He doesn't need to go dancing. But he can't think of a way to articulate that so he just nods and lets Phil pull him a little closer.

 

They watch the fireworks for a little bit longer before Phil announces it’s time for him and his husband to go. Bridget immediately starts to catcall before Phil laughs and tells her they’re not going to bed.

 

“We should change though,” Phil says as they wander away from the campfire arm-in-arm. “I would rather not go in a suit.”


	2. Chapter 2

Once they're out of sight of the rest of the couples Clint pulls Phil aside by the arm and stops. They're secluded now and he feels comfortable breaking character for a moment.  
  
"You didn't have to do that you know." he says. "They were just teasing; you didn't really have to kiss me."

 

Phil’s brows raise and he wonders for a moment if he could have possibly deduced this whole thing wrong – but no, there’s panic and hope and fear and Clint’s eyes, but not disgust.

 

“You didn’t like it?” he smirks, and watches Clint’s face light up pink and he starts to splutter.

 

“You – I didn’t – ”

 

“Relax, you’re overthinking it,” Phil tucks his hands into his pockets and begins to walk away.

 

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable." Clint blurts out before Phil can get too far. Phil turns back to him, still giving him that same look. The one that makes Clint feel like an idiot. He drops his eyes and adds softly, "You know. About kissing a guy. I know some straight guys find it weird."

 

Phil looks like he’s about to say something, his brows furrow and his mouth opens and he takes in a breath before squinting curiously at Clint and shaking his head.

 

“W – You think I’m straight?” he says after a moment.

 

Clint looks up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "Of course. Everyone knows you're straight. Tony swears you had a thing for Pepper until last year."

 

“I never had a thing for Pepper,” Phil shakes his head, his brows furrowed even deeper than Clint’s. “She helped hook me up with my ex-boyfriend in Portland. Uh, I think everyone knows him as ‘the cellist?’”

 

"The cellist was a guy?" Clint asks a little too loudly. He quiets and takes a step back into the shadow of one of the trees shading the path back to the hotel. "Sorry. I had no idea. We all thought she was some sophisticated lady you'd met at some point."

 

“He is sophisticated,” Phil laughs. “He plays in the Portland Symphony Orchestra."

 

"Well it didn't work out so obviously something went wrong. But you never mentioned a name or had any pictures and you've never shown any interest in guys." Clint says in his own defense. He can only think of one guy Phil has ever really paid attention to. "Except, Steve sort of. Do you have a thing for Steve? Because if you do you're going to have to fight Darcy for him and I'm putting my money on her."

 

“No! I don’t have a thing for Captain America!” Phil says maybe a little too loudly, and he looks around to make sure no one was nearby to hear before continuing. “I don’t show interest in men because… well, I’m picky. I have a ‘type’ you could say, and Martin – that’s his name – just wasn’t it. I was feeling lonely when he came on to me so I said yes. I probably would have said yes to anyone. But it just didn’t work out.”

 

"Oh." Clint mutters, feeling a little smug. He shouldn't be happy that someone else wasn't right for Phil when he himself was probably ten times harder to put up with without the additional intelligence and grace of symphony cellist. But he's been Phil's friend and handler for almost nine years which is more than 'Martin' would ever get.

 

“So now that’s cleared up, do you still want to go dancing? Because I did promise,” Phil smirks.

 

Clint nods. "Yeah that sounds great."  
  
Phil leads him back to the suite so they can change while Clint is still working to wrap his mind around what he had just learned. He watches Phil change, not bothering to hide how openly he's staring. He figures Phil won't mind the appreciation now and he has to know at least a little of what's on Clint's mind after that kiss. Phil seems a little different now, or maybe it's just that Clint is looking at him now for the first time with a little bit of hope.

 

Clint turns to change – putting on one of his classic wife-beaters again, this time in a dark shade of red, and a pair of jeans. When he turns again, his mouth runs completely dry.

 

Phil is wearing a heather grey v-neck tee shirt that looks so good on him it should be outlawed. Its sleeves are short and hug his biceps, and the rest of the cloth is so tightly wrapped around his torso there’s hardly a wrinkle in the cloth, and the vee dips so low Clitn can see a few traces of fine chest hair. He’s wearing those same black high-waisted jeans again, as well as a pair of crisp black dress shoes. Looking at him now, like this, Clint can hardly believe he ever thought this man was straight.

 

"Looking to pick up someone on our honeymoon darling?" he teases, eyes raking over Phil's fine form. He wants to reach out and run his hands down Phil's chest, feeling his muscles under that beautifully tight shirt. Then he wants to touch his arms and feel his flesh directly beneath him own hands. But he holds steady and just smirks at him. "You'll have no trouble dressed like that. You look gorgeous."

 

“I might be,” Phil teases right back, and he wonders if Clint sees the gleam in his eyes. “It’s seven-thirty, and we don’t have to be back until midnight. Let’s see if we can have some fun.” He runs his tongue over his lower lip and heads for the door, and he hears Clint gasp a little bit behind him as he comes trailing after.

 

The club is in town, and it’s lowly lit and a little bit smoky, and there are couples dancing together everywhere. The dance floor is crowded and there are people lusting over one another all near the bar.

 

“How about a drink first?” Phil asks, looking at the throng of dancers and feeling a little intimidated. He’s been to one or two clubs like this before – once for an op and a couple times willingly – but it was never a completely pleasant experience. He hopes tonight will be different because he’s here with Clint.

 

They trail to the bar together and sit beside one another, ordering shots. Phil downs two before he feels a little bit bolder, and he leans over to Clint. “I have to admit, I’m not much of a dancer. I’m kind of nervous.”

 

"It's easy. You find someone to dance with and you move your body with theirs. It's not hard." Clint says, reaching for his fourth shot. He turns around to watching the couples dancing and smiles at a handsome man who's looking him over. He won't waste his time with him unless Phil takes off with someone but he enjoys the appreciation and always acknowledges it.

 

Phil desperately wants to ask Clint to dance, but the thought of making a fool of himself on the dance floor has an icy feeling worming through his gut.

 

“I’ll be right back, I really should have used the bathroom before we came here,” he says, trying to pass off his anxious tone as a need to pee, and he retreats hastily.

 

In the bathroom, he bends over a sink to run water over his face with a groan. He looks up into the mirror as he wipes away the droplets with a paper towel, trying to steel himself.

 

 _You are a SHIELD agent_ , he tells himself. _You are trained to and capable of killing a man in approximately 172 ways. You are a handler of the Avengers, and a friend of Captain America, and you deserve every inch of Clint’s body. Don’t let this opportunity pass you by_.

 

Unbeknownst to him, a lovely woman with long red hair wearing a black dress that reminds Clint far too much of Natasha is sauntering up to him on five-inch heels that could likely kill someone.

 

“Are you here alone?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at him. She’s got a light British accent, and she’s wearing way too much eye makeup.

 

"With a friend," Clint responds, ordering a glass of whiskey and a martini for the lady out of politeness. She sits down next to him even though he didn't offer her the seat but the one on his other side is empty so he doesn't say anything about it.

 

“My name is Phoebe. What’s your name?” she asks demurely, crossing her legs.

 

“Clint,” he answers shortly, and his eyes stray towards the restroom. Phil isn’t coming back.

 

“Clint,” she repeats with an interested tone. “Well, this _friend_ of yours, could she be competition? Because I must say, I might be persuaded to fight tooth and nail for a night with you.”

 

"He." Clint corrects instead of answering. The woman isn't what he wants but if Phil isn't interested – which if he isn't interested in Captain America Clint doesn't have much hope – then she'll do for a quicky before they have to get back to the hotel. "But I'm not picky."

 

She beams at him and moves her red-nailed hand over his. “Is that so?” she asks with a smirk on her red-painted lips. “Do you think I could steal you away from this friend of yours, then? I promise I’ll give you right back.”

 

"I'm enjoying a drink right now. And I did come to dance." he replies blandly. She's already touching him too much which isn't a good sign. People who touch too much right from the start tend to be controlling and don't know when to take a hint. She hasn't gone below the waist though so he's not going to scare her off yet.

 

“Do you want to dance then?” she offers, her lips curling into an impish smile.

 

Phil emerges from the restroom with at least half of his nerve worked up. If his tests throughout the night have anything to say in the matter then Clint won’t reject him, but the possibility is still fresh in his mind and SHIELD agent or not, he is terrified. Give him a gun and a standoff with thirteen Russian hitmen and his pulse won’t change even by a fraction. But force him to face the man he’s had deep-seated lust for, for the better part of five years, and suddenly he’s having a hard time remembering the English language.

 

As he draws nearer, however, he’s startled to see Natasha sitting with him. However, upon closer inspection, he sees that she is in fact just some red-headed woman with her hand on Clint’s and her charm worked up full blast.

 

Suddenly it’s a challenge. It’s a mission, and Phil’s resolve steels just like in any other op. He walks smoothly up and takes Clint by the shoulder just firm enough to let the other man know he’s not comfortable with the situation.

 

“Pardon me, miss,” Phil says, and she looks startled, and her hand retreats. “But this one’s mine.”

 

Clint smiles up at him and gives the scandalized woman an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, but you heard the man. There's a rich-looking guy over there who's giving you the eye."  
  
The woman looks like she's going to slap him. But instead she gets up and leaves in a huff. Clint laughs and grins at Phil again. "Thanks for the save man. But you know, we don't have to be in character here. You don't have to play my knight in shining armor right now."

 

“I know,” Phil takes Clint by the hand before his nerve can leave him and starts to drag him towards the dance floor. They weave in between the throngs of moving people until they’re well into the crowd and they’ve blended into the place where dancing couples know nothing else except the movement of their partner’s body against theirs. He takes Clint by the waist and drags him close, and suddenly his palms and fingers (have they always been that big?) are filled with handfuls of Clint’s jeans-clad ass, and his leg is firmly planted between the younger man’s thighs. Their bodies are so close to one another it’s hard to breathe, and Phil leans in and whispers dark and low,

 

“ _I’m not in-character._ ”

 

"Fuck." Clint whispers, feeling dizzy as all the blood in his body rushes south. He grabs Phil's hips and pulls him even closer. They're hip to hip now and he starts to move, guiding Phil along with him so they're rubbing against each other in time to the music.  
  
It's like a dream. He can't possibly be dancing like this with Phil. And Phil certainly can't be dancing back. But he is and Phil is there, hot and firm against him.  
  
"I want you Phil." he whispers into the older man's ear. "You know that by now but fuck I'm gonna say it anyway. I want you. I would suck you off right here and now if I could, that's how badly I want you."

 

A thrill shoots through Phil’s body and he wonders why he’s taken so long to make a move on this man, writhing against him in time to the pounding beat of the music. It isn’t the first time he’s imagined Clint going down on his knees to suck his cock, but it’s the first time that fantasy has ever been so close to being a reality.

 

Clint’s arms wrap around his neck and he grinds his leg viciously between the archer’s thighs, determined to have him hot and hard and needy right here on this dance floor.

 

“I will take you,” Phil’s voice is a little bit more growly than he anticipated, but then, he’s never been quite _this_ aroused in all his life.

 

Clint groans and grinds against Phil more fervently. " _Yes._ " he breathes into his ear. His cock is already half hard and if they keep it up it won't be long before he's begging Phil to take him. "How ever you want, where ever and when ever. I don't care."

 

It’s like all of Phil’s life has been building up to converge on this most holy of moments. Clint holding onto him, begging for him like a hungry slut and grinding against him so hard he might put a hole in Phil’s jeans. A sense of power surges through Phil, as well as pride and lust, and he would probably make passionate love to Clint right on this dance floor if he thought he could get away with it.

 

“Tonight,” he hisses in Clint’s ear, and suddenly spins him around so the archer’s back is to his chest, and his ass is lined up with Phil’s pelvis. “Before the appointment. We’ll go back to the room, and we’ll really give that camera a show, shall we?”

 

Clint nods and presses back against Phil, feeling his handler's hardness pressing against his ass. It's fantastic and he doesn't want to wait to feel him without their clothes in the way. He wants him now, even if that means dragging him out into the alley. But Phil wants to do this right, in a bed somewhere at least semi-private. Plus, knowing that someone is watching is a huge turn on.  
  
"After this song?" he asks, leaning back against Phil's shoulder. "I don't think I can wait too long before I drag you into the bathroom and have my wicked way with you there."

 

“Patience, my dear,” Phil scolds in a low rumble and rakes his nails up Clint’s thighs so hard, he can feel the sting right through his jeans. “I’ll take you when I’m good and ready. We just got here.”

 

"Phil I've been waiting years." Clint groans with the mix of lust and frustration that are coursing through him. Waiting can be nice sometimes. The anticipation only heightens things when they reach their inevitable conclusion. But he's been pining after Phil for so long that another moment will kill him, he's sure of it.

 

“Then another twenty minutes shouldn’t hurt,” Phil smirks and begins to kiss Clint’s neck, fully intending to drive him wild right here and now. He loops his thumbs into Clint’s belt loops for leverage to grind more forcefully against him, and he knows Clint can feel his erection against his backside because he’s moaning and panting as if they’re already into it.

 

"Fucking tease. Clearly you don't want me as much as I want you." Clint pants. He can feel how badly Phil wants him. He doesn't understand how the man can be so damn calm about it though! It's fucking torture but to Phil they're just dancing.

 

“Don’t underestimate the severity of my need, agent,” Phil snarls in Clint’s ear and thrusts against him particularly forcefully, raking his trim nails down the man’s chest now as they rock together. “Think of this as a training exercise. You do well, you get rewarded. Just like always.”

 

He begins to nibble and suck at Clint’s pulsepoint, determined to leave a hickey there before they leave this club.

 

Clint moans and drives back against Phil, grinding his ass hard against the older man's groin while Phil bites and sucks on his neck. He'll have a bruise there soon enough and if he has it his way he'll have plenty to match it by the end of the night.  
  
"Training exercises don't usually last for four years _sir._ " he growls back.

 

Phil doesn’t quip back, content to just roll his hips against Clint’s. He doesn’t know how many songs have passed – maybe one, maybe ten – before he drags the younger man back to the bar.

 

“We can’t just go walking back to the resort in this condition,” Phil’s voice is low as they take seats at a different part of the bar. “Someone’s bound to notice. And I will not subject our first time to a dirty alley behind a club.”

 

"I don't care where we go Phil, I'm dying here." Clint groans. He reaches down and rubs his cock through his pants to prove just how desperate he is.

 

Phil wets his drying mouth with a shot as he watches Clint palm himself. And in such a public place, he can hardly believe the archer’s audacity. But nobody seemed to notice.

 

“You are filthy,” he scolds, and gives the younger man a sweltering stare to show he meant no real ill by it.

 

"And you love it." Clint smirks, refusing to stop. It feels so good and the danger of getting caught makes it better. "You don't even want me to stop. It's making you hot, isn't it Phil? You want to throw me down and fuck me right now but you can't. You just have to sit there and let this happen."

 

Phil takes Clint’s wrist and twists it just so, giving him just the barest hint of pain, in just the way he knows Clint gets off on.

 

“Your depravity knows no bounds,” he sneers as he scoots a little closer, and Clint gasps as he captures his lips in a bruising kiss.

 

They break away and Clint's first reaction is to lean closer, chasing Phil's lips. But Phil doesn't let him make contact again, keeping carefully out of reach. "Please Phil. I need you. I've needed you for so long. Don't tease me now."

 

Phil downs another shot and lets Clint lick the remnants from his lips before finally pulling the younger man to a stand to press their chests together. He can feel Clint’s erection press against his own, and he’s seriously doubting their ability to walk the ten blocks back to the resort.

 

“We’ll get a cab then,” he smirks as they rush out the door quickly enough so that no one can catch a glimpse of the sizable bulge both of them are sporting.

 

It only takes moments for them to get a cab and give directions before they’re off. The cab driver must have sensed the urgency, for he drove a little bit faster than he should have. Phil’s hand finds its way to Clint’s groin and he gives a hard squeeze, relishing the feeling of Clint’s hardness even through his jeans.

 

Clint drops his head against Phil's shoulder with a long low moan. "Phil," he breathes, "Phil don't stop. Don't stop touching me."

 

Phil grinds his palm more forcefully against Clint’s cock, rubbing in circles and alternating pressure. He wonders if he can get Clint off in his pants before they even get there. If Clint’s reactions are anything to go by, he doesn’t think he’s far off.

 

“Are you going to come, Clint?” Phil whispers so softly the driver couldn’t possibly hear it, but his lips are so close to the archer’s ear that he knows he couldn’t have missed a syllable.

 

"I might." Clint replies under his breath. His hips buck a little into Phil's hand. "If you order me to I will."

 

“Come for me, agent,” Phil whispers as he curls his fingers around the archer’s package. “And do be quiet about it.”

 

Clint lifts his hand to bite his knuckles as he bucks and thrusts into Phil's hand. Soon he's lost, coming in his pants like a teenager. He cries out softly but the noise is muffled by his hand.

 

They pull up to the resort moments later and Phil coolly pays the driver and they walk away. Clint’s still a little jelly-legged so he clings to Phil’s arm as they walk through the halls. One swipe of their card in the lock later and they’re admitted to their room. Phil slams the door behind him and gives the lust-weary archer a good hard shove down to his knees. Leaning back against the door, he licks his lip and stares expectantly down at the younger man.

 

Clint's hands, sure and steady as ever, grab Phil's pants and make quick work of the button and zipper. He yanks them and his briefs down to knees, revealing Phil's cock for the first time. It's beautiful and his mouth waters just looking at it. He's long and thick, not the biggest Clint has ever had but more than enough. His length is red and heavy with blood and Clint leans forward to lick away the pre-come leaking from the head.

 

Phil doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers through the archer’s short, downy hair as he rocks his hips forward against the inquisitive tongue. “Clint,” he moans, dropping his head back against the door with a thunk, hardly believing that his fantasies are finally coming true in the form of Clint’s full lips edging around his dripping cock.

 

He opens his eyes and looks down, realizing that he can’t waste this opportunity staring at the ceiling, or with his eyes squeezed shut. He wants to watch every second of this.

 

Clint's eyes flick up to meet Phil's and god is that hot. Phil's eyes are dark with need and lust and want and it's all for him. He never thought he would see this side of Phil, had at times thought maybe his handler wasn't even capable of such human emotions, and now it's there and focused entirely on him and his mouth.  
  
So he sets to work, sucking and licking the very tip, watching Phil gasp and his muscles tighten as he tries to keep himself under control. Only the rocking of his hips and the tight grip on Clint's hair would give him away if it weren't for the heat emanating from his eyes.

 

“Oh, oh my god,” Phil grunts, never looking away, hardly even blinking. All ten fingers pull into Clint’s short hair and holds him on the spot so he can start to thrust. Clint relaxes his jaw and opens his lips and doesn’t drop his gaze, looking up and making contact with his big, lusty hazel eyes. His hands come to rest on Phil’s thighs, thumbs massaging into the cordy, muscled flesh as he allows his throat to be ravaged by the older man’s pounding cock. It’s beyond a doubt the most breathtaking sight Phil has ever seen in his life.

 

"Mmmh,"  Clint hums in agreement. The sound send vibrations through his mouth and around Phil's cock, making the other man moan and his fingers tighten in Clint's hair. He fucks his mouth harder, driving his hips forward and his length deeper into Clint's throat and he loves it. He's sucked plenty of cocks before and had his mouth fucked by enough guys to know he's good at it but this is the first time he's really enjoyed it. Phil's cock is perfect and he knows just how to be rough without hurting too much. It's so good that Clint's own erection is pulsing and he has to release Phil's thigh with one hand to open his pants and relieve some of the pressure.

 

Phil suddenly pulls back all the way, holding Clint’s forehead in one hand and his own cock with the other, angling it just so, and he watches as Clint’s tongue slides between his open lips to lap at the head of his penis hungrily.

 

“Oh, wow,” Phil grunts as he makes eye contact with the younger man, who looks so fargone with lust that he would probably drop dead with disappointment if they slowed down any. “Strip. Get to the edge of the bed, lie on your back and prop your feet up.” Phil makes his orders clear as he starts to work his own jeans off his legs.

 

Clint grins and stands up. He starts with his shirt, pulling it off slowly to make a little show of it but not so slowly that he's wasting time. Then go the boots so he can shimmy out of his tight jeans and boxer-briefs, leaving him completely naked. He practically jumps onto the bed and drops onto his back, quickly arranging himself to Phil's specifications.  
  
"Like what you see?" he asks, looking over at his handler.

 

Phil leaves his shirt on as he surveys the young man, and he can feel his mouth go completely dry. Cock sitting straight up and leaking between muscular thighs, spread wide just for him, his hole looking pink and ready to be touched.

 

“God you are beautiful,” Phil growls predatorily as he reaches for the complementary lotion on the bedside table. It smells like an amalgamation of every kind of flower known to mankind, but Phil couldn’t be bothered with the scent as he slicks up three of his fingers and kneels down at the edge of the bed. He leans in first to give the firm flesh of Clint’s ass a few sharp nips, and then leans in to press the flat of his tongue to Clint’s pucker, soaking up his lusty scent and the salt of his sweat.

 

"Fuck, Phil." Clint groans. Phil's tongue presses against him but not into him, teasing him with just enough pressure and make him wriggle a little in anticipation, trying to urge him on. He wants Phil inside him and at this point he isn't going to be picky as to which part. Whether it's his tongue or his fingers or that glorious cock, he doesn't care. He needs something soon before he dies from sheer desperation.

 

Phil laps and kisses and suckles noisily until Clint is wet and soft, and then presses all three of he fingers inside at once, his eyes riveted to the point of penetration. His fingers, slicked with lotion until they’re creamy white, push easily past Clint’s yielding hole.

 

“Shit,” Phil curses, licking his lips as he watches his fingers slide in to the knuckles. “Oh, Clint, tell me what you’re feeling. Please, tell me everything you’re feeling.”

 

"I'm on fire,” Clint gasps. "My whole body is burning up, I need you so bad. I've dreamed about this for years and now it's coming true and god I'm going to come from just your fingers, I'm going to explode because it feels so damn good sir, Phil. I need more, please."

 

Phil groans loudly. “You want me inside you?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Clint can only sob in agreement as Phil’s fingers find his prostate. He kneels up, one foot on the floor and one knee crooked up on the bed as he situates Clint’s hips.

 

Leaning out over him, shirt ridden up almost to his belly button, Phil takes a moment to just _be_. He looks down at Clint, wide open and spread out and so hot _just for him_ and he takes a second to appreciate that this fantasy is finally coming true. It’s hard for him to even believe that twenty-four hours ago they were so far from this, and now he’s between Clint’s spread legs, watching him wriggle hungrily, looking to be stuffed full of Phil’s cock.

 

Shaking his head to clear out the fluffy emotions, Phil takes his cock in hand and presses in without hesitation.

 

"Fuck, _yes_!" Clint screams. He throws his head back, eyes shut tight as Phil slides into him, his hot hard cock splitting him open and filling his empty, aching, burning body. His muscles tighten and that just makes Phil's cock feel bigger, the stretch emphasized and he groans loudly as Phil just continues to push in until his hips meet the back of Clint's thighs.  
  
He thinks he might come right just from that and his cock twitches, pre-come trickles down the side and pooling on his lower stomach. But he manages to hold back, keeping himself on the precipice of bliss for a little while longer.

 

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Phil almost adds _please_ before he realizes that he doesn’t have to beg to get Clint to do anything like this. He’s completely at Phil’s mercy and he would do _sit-ups_ if Phil said that’s what got him off. Clint’s fingers immediately dig into his Trapezius on either shoulder, as Phil starts in a heavy rhythm, rocking deep and hard into Clint’s body.

 

“Oh my god,” Phil hangs his head and locks the knee of his foot on the floor as an anchor so he can pile drive his hips forward faster. He opens his eyes when Clint is silent for a while, and sees his head extended as far back as his throat will let him, his cheeks red and his eyes shut tight, his mouth open wide in a silent scream that doesn’t seem to end. Phil has never seen anyone in such an extreme state of bliss, and pride soars through him as he takes Clint hard by the hips and kicks up the pace of his thrusting.

 

 _Fuck, shit, yes, just like that, PHIL_ Clint's mind screams but he's too far gone to form words. He's completely lost in the sensation and the awareness that this is Phil. Phil's hands holding his hips. Phil's shoulders under his fingers. Phil's balls slapping against his ass. Phil's cock splitting him open as he drives into him harder and faster and better with every second.  
  
He isn't going to last long like this. His cock is pulsing and twitching so furiously he's sure Phil can see it. His whole body is trembling with exertion and the sheer force of will that is keeping him from losing it just yet.

 

Suddenly more than anything, Phil needs Clint’s legs wrapped around his waist. But at the edge of the bed he’ll lose his balance, so he slows his thrusts down until he can slip out – earning a wail of despair from the blonde – and urges him higher up on the bed. Once Phil can lean on the covers, he looms over Clint’s form again, pushes in, and silently instructs Clint’s legs to wrap around him. The archer is malleable and obedient as Phil sets into his previous pace, driving home with every thrust.

 

“Talk to me, Clint, please talk to me,” Phil whispers, holding himself up straight-armed over the lust-weary man.

 

"So good Phil," Clint starts babbling, barely registering what he's saying. Phil told him to speak so he'll speak, it doesn't matter what he says until Phil tells him to stop. "So good, so hard, yes yes, fuck Phil. Need you so much, love you so much, need more please, Phil, please. Feels so good, so perfect, love your cock, love you, _Fuck_!"

 

Phil feels his heart thudding in his chest for an entirely different reason. He doesn’t know if Clint means he loves him in the way Phil hopes he means it, if he means it in the context of sex, or if he’s even aware of what he’s saying at all. Whatever it is, it has Phil feeling completely spread out all over the room with lust and hope and adoration, and he wonders if he’s close to tears he feels so good.

 

Clint’s body was made for his. The way they fit together, slender body into muscular, Clint’s hole opened just wide enough for his cock, just enough to give a stretch, not so much that it’s painful, and deep enough to make him see stars.

 

“You’re so perfect,” Phil drops down to his elbows to kiss and bite at Clint’s ears.

 

"Oh god Phil, I'm so close Phil," he whimpers, begging for release. He suddenly understands that he won't come until Phil tells him to. He needs Phil's permission and approval, that sign that he's done good and earned his reward. He starts to buck back against Phil, meeting his thrusts and driving him deeper into his body.

 

Using the tightness of Clint’s legs around him, Phil rolls them over until Clint is on top. With his back cushioned by the mattress, Phil is able to pound his hips up faster without any of the pain that had started to settle in his back. Clint is absolutely boneless against him as he’s fucked into hard and fast, Phil’s arms tight around his waist.

 

“Phil, Phil, please,” Clint chants, sobs, fingers tight in the blankets and feeling opened up and used so right.

 

“Come, baby, come for me,” Phil urges, placing a few sloppy kisses to Clint’s jaw.

 

Clint's world explodes. His body goes rigid as he shoots he seed over Phil's stomach and he can feel everything fly apart around him. There's a roaring in his ears and in his veins. His world is a swirl of light and darkness as he fights passing out from the overwhelming sensations. It's everything he ever wanted and he thinks he's screaming but he can't hear it over his own beating heart. Phil thinks he’s going to cry at the sound of Clint’s voice.

 

One of Phil’s hands comes up to Clint’s head to soothe him through his explosive orgasm, and he only needs a dozen or do more into the archer’s limp body before he’s lost, too. He throws his head back with a cry and lifts his hips up off the bed, holding them in place as he comes wildly into the younger man.

 

Clint comes to slowly, feeling better than he has in a very long time. He becomes aware of Phil beneath him and the familiar slick feeling inside him that tells him Phil has reached his own completion. He's so happy he can't even begin to describe it so he just nuzzles Phil's neck, pressing soft kisses to his jawline when he isn't grinning like a complete fool.

 

Phil coaxed the boneless agent slowly off of his spent cock and maneuvered him so he could nuzzle up to his side.

 

“You’re so amazing,” Phil says breathlessly, curling his arm around his waist to pull him even closer.

 

"You smell good." Clint replies, still a little loopy, snuggling closer to Phil and throwing an arm over him. "So you liked that? We can do it again?"

 

“You bet your butt we’re going to do it again,” Phil arches his head up to look Clint in the eye. “I’m not going to let you sleep with anyone else ever again, do you understand me? Now that I’ve got you, I’m not about to let you go.”

 

"Promise?" Clint asks, grinning like a fool and his eyes wide with hope. "You really mean that Phil? Because if you don't, don't say it because that's just cruel. Because I want you so much and if you're going to change your mind I won't be able to handle it."

 

“Hey,” Phil says softly, helping Clint up to lay across his chest so he can easily look him in the eye. He cups both sides of the man’s face to give him a few gentle kisses. “Look at me. You are not going to _anyone else_. You are _mine_.”

 

Clint grins and kisses Phil again, more forcefully this time. "Yes sir. Do you mean like dating or just sex because either is fine with me. Whatever you want."

 

“What do _you_ want?” Phil asks gently, wiping away a bead of sweat from the archer’s forehead.

 

Clint flushes and buries his face in Phil's chest. He wants to say forever but that's way too cheesy and too soon. He doesn't want to send Phil running for the hills now that he's finally got him.  
  
"Dating might be fun." he mumbles finally. "We had dinner and I didn't hate it so we could do that for a few years or something. I don't know."

 

Phil lifts Clint’s head again to look him in the eye once more. “I’d like that too,” he says with a nod. “I’m a little too old to be called your boyfriend, but… I’d like to be yours anyway.” He smoothes his hands over Clint’s face to wipe away the sweat still there.

 

"Well you know my answer. I already told you I've been wanting this for years. Mixed in with all the other weird stuff I probably said I don't remember." Clint laughs. "Did I say anything you're going to make fun of me for because if I did it isn't true."

 

Phil’s smile slips a little. “You said you love me,” he says softly.

 

"Shit really?" Clint curses, pushing himself up on his arms so he's hovering over the older agent, keen eyes searching his face for any hint that he's lying or upset. He doesn't see anything so he sighs and hangs his head. "What a way to make that little confession, huh?"

 

“Did you mean it?” Phil whispers, lifting his arms to hold either side of Clint’s neck, stroking his thumbs over his jaw.

 

"Yup. Hope that doesn't scare you too much." Clint replies, looking up again to meet Phil's eyes with an expression of mingled fear and hope.

 

Phil draws Clint down onto his body again to kiss him sweetly, eyes closed, thumbs still stroking his jaw. He kisses him over and over and over, gentle, closed-mouth kisses.

 

“That doesn’t scare me at all,” he whispers, foreheads knocked together, a smile spreading across his face. “You don’t know how long I’ve longed for you.”

 

Clint smiles and lowers himself back down to lay on Phil's chest, his head turned so he can listen to the older man's heartbeat. It's strong and steady and wonderful and he could stay like this forever.  
  
"Well you're not getting rid of me now unless you kill me and then you'll have to fill out all the extra paperwork." he laughs.

 

They giggle together for a while, continuing to kiss languidly every now and then, murmur to each other and knock foreheads playfully. They don’t even budge until suddenly there’s a knock on the door, and all of a sudden it’s midnight.

 

“Our employee is here,” he says softly. “Now that you’ve got me, do you think you’ll be able to bring a third party into bed for the mission?”

 

Clint takes a deep breath and nods. "It's for the mission so I can compartmentalize. You'll just have to screw me again afterwards so I feel good again."

 

“Oh believe me, I can do that,” Phil says before standing up and answering the door completely nude. The man at the door is wearing a simple black tee shirt and dark jeans, and he has short black hair, dark eyes, and skin the color of toffee. He seems sheepish enough, bowing his head as Phil lets him into the room, and asks what they want him to do.

 

He seems really surprised when they tell him they’re here on a mission to eliminate the illegal human trafficking ring at the same time they tell him to take off his clothing. He’s compliant, even though it means he’ll be out of a job if they succeed, because his sister got pulled into it as well. He answers all of their questions, even if it is a little difficult while they’re kissing his neck, or when Clint goes down on him.

 

They get all the information out of the young man (his name is Carl) and thank him and  assure him that he’ll be kept totally safe as he goes on his way. The door is barely closed before Clint is on him again. This time Phil blows him until he’s seeing stars, and then leans over him doggy-style until he’s screaming and biting into pillows.

 

They return to the SHIELD base the next day with all of their information in tow, and within the week, the ring is shut down. It’s a flawless execution, and Clint and Phil are both given small bonuses for pretending to be gay together all weekened. They decide for the sake of keeping that money they’ll keep the news of their new relationship on the down-low for the time being.

 

Clint comes home with Phil that night, and they have dinner in his apartment, and watch a movie on the couch, a tangle of content limbs.

 

“I’m really glad we got this mission,” he murmurs to Clint with a smile.

“One for the scrapbooks,” Clint agrees tiredly, his head rested on the older man’s broad chest. Sleep had never come so easily for either of them.

 


End file.
